In Louisiana with Love
by The Bee's Tales
Summary: Arlette Chevalier de Badeau da Ajaccio is an independent, headstrong Corsican in search of her godfather, Dijon; Ratohnhake:ton, called Connor by colonists, is a wise, caring and courageous warrior-together, they search the colonies to chase a man chasing his hallucinations, while the two fall ever more in love.
1. Chapter 1: Chasing Dijon

**First of, I'd like to say thanks to my friend and co-author Gregory, who is not a user of Archive or Fanfiction, but it doesn't stop him nonetheless!**

**This is my second fanfiction on Assassin's Creed 3 and, I gotta say, I need to make another fanfiction that's not another AC3 so not one of you would think I'm too obsessed with this fandom.**

**So this is much longer than the previous one, and I had a friend and co-author edit this for the both of us, but he much prefer edit and add more when the smut chapters come coz he's apparently an expert at racier stuff.**

**For now, all of you would have to make do to Connor's and Arlette's, our OC's, budding romantic relationship. This takes place before the first fanfiction I've done, so this is all before everything went too downhill for these two.**

**The first fanfiction I made, titled The Urge to Knit, is already complete so if you want to read that, you can search it on Fanfiction! It's also up on Archive on our Own if you also read there.**

**The story takes place in a historical setting, specifically in the year 1789, Springtime, just a few weeks after George Washington became President of the Thirteen Colonies and became the first president of the United States of America.**

**Chapter 1: Chasing Dijon**

It was four o' clock in the afternoon as the Aquila was able to catch a sweeter, swifter breeze that assured her journey to Louisiana. They had sailed to Delaware three days ago to catch a large privateer ship that they had been informed to carry black-skinned or African slaves. Arlette, the woman whom Connor is helping, is in search of her family friend, a black-skinned Corsican christened Dijon, who was a former slave and pirate for the Barbary pirates that terrorized the Meditteranean sea and its surrounding countries; Dijon, after being bought by Arlette's father, was soon freed from being a slave and became a fish merchant and became her parents' closest friend, keeping an eye on Arlette and her younger brother when they were children.

The information Arlette had managed to gather came from a slave trader back in Quebec telling her that there had been two ships carrying black-skinned French-speaking slaves, "slightly educated to be able to follow orders properly", heading towards to Delaware and another on Louisiana. The first ship, a large frigate and sailing its commisioned flag, carried the usual number of slaves to deliver for the state's agricultural labor. The second, smaller ship is to Louisiana; Connor is aware of the Spanish government that still held their position on the colony and he deduced that the procurement of a small fleet of slaves may have been ordered by a wealthy French still living in the Lower Louisiana. Arlette never had any evidence of where Dijon may have ended up and had resorted for interrogating slave traders or the cities' municipal records of their shipments of slaves, as she expected that was how her friend, Dijon, would be treated—a slave. She was in trouble, as she couldn't look at two separate colonies at once and could not be any faster, even by horse. She had thanked Connor for assisting her so far on her quest and became reluctant to ask him anymore services even if she paid him the small fortune she carries with her from her homeland. But despite her resistance to the idea of taking further assistance, Connor still offered her his help and convinced her that he is doing this of his own volition—and their shared belief of freedom.

And with that belief, however, after three days of searching, Connor managed to stop the larger ship and had politely told the captain of the ship of the situation, they have found out that the ship contained not only documented, legally-bought slaves from the European countries, but smuggled peoples from the African islands as well! Already disagreeing at the idea of slavery, Arlette was further outraged when she saw the maltreatment of the slaves and the poor conditions they were forced upon by the crew. This elicited a brief, heated argument between Kelton Flintwitch, the privateer captain of the frigate, and Arlette; which constituted a one-sided brawl between Faulkner and the largest crew member of the opposing ship (Faulkner won by biting—and almost pulling it off literally—the man's nose), an almost-kidnapping of Arlette by Captain Flintwitch; of course, this was a big mistake, because it soon led to an all-out sword fight between all of them to save the young woman!

The fight was vicious and comical, to say the least; ten of Flintwitch's men were easily decimated: three were told to walk the plank, four hid and locked themselves in Flintwitch's quarters, and one accidentally fell on a barrel full of rum ("They won't be drinkin' there no more"! Faulkner said) and the last two got knocked out by being thrown to the floor, their heads smacking onto the cannonballs! The crew of the Aquila were ferocious but they only wounded and lamed them to convey the message that they are not to be easily contended. Then four of the cabin boys from the opposing privateer ship decided to join the Aquila to escape the poor treatment they have received since they came on board, which further tipped the favor for Connor and his crew!

After Arlette sliced Flintwitch's left middle finger off to escape his clutches, he was met by a wrathful Connor, his large Assassin tomahawk on his left hand and a loaded flintlock on the right. He decided to spare him and his whole crew, as he saw it unwise to become quite blind with rage and be satiated by blowing off the entire ship, killing the innocent slaves. However, Connor threatened the captain if he knew of any further maltreatment of the slaves or if he dared kidnap anyone again.

"I know your face! My whole crew knows what you have done! And this woman knows of the punishment that should befall on you if I see or know anymore evil activity you have done to these slaves or anyone!" Connor had brought the rotund captain up on the scruff of his neck (or chins, as Flintwitch was quite a glutinous-looking fellow), his dangling feet fifteen inches off the floor and his face scrunched as he grimaced and cowered against Connor's furious face, his brown eyes gleaming. "You, your crew and the rest who work on this kind of occupation have already been cruel to these people and their lands! Your hands are bloody! And you will perhaps wash a spot away with what kindness you have left for these people! And it is the only reason I spare you!"

And with those words said, Connor, Arlette and the rest of his crew left the ship on its own devices, quite scarred after meeting the Ghost of the North Seas.

Many of the young crew members soon became worried about Arlette, while the older crew members shook their heads and chuckled as they tried to console her; after all, she was the only lady in the ship and she was almost kidnapped and would have been sold as a slave—or worse, forced to serve Captain Flintwitch and his crew!

"Were you all right, m'lady?" asked one of the crew men. Some were holding her hand and, in a way, were being too affectionate with her arm.

Arlette smiled, though she was pulling away her arm from too many of these worrywart men, who _are_ worried but only as much as being "conspicuously" flirtatious.

"I'm fine, please," Arlette reassured as she swatted a hand that caressed her shoulder. "I could still chop off fingers, so you should all be careful!"

And with that, they withdrew their hands and apologized, chuckled nervously and instead gave encouraging pats on her hand; one of them shook her hand gently—too gently.

"I have no doubts that you can handle that bastard chap of a captain, madame Arlette," he said, winking and smiling at her. He was a handsome, dark-haired man, perhaps the same age as hers and he had the most piercing green eyes, eyes that didn't hide his intentions.

Arlette raised an eyebrow and just shook his hand back. "I am grateful for your confidence, monsieur, but I had never doubted myself, either."

Arlette pulled away her hand gently from him, but he was quite adamant in his flirting. He blocked her way as she tried to walk past him and he gave her his most heart-warming, sensuous smile. "Madam, please, I have been waiting to ask you if you would like to join me and my fellows after this adventure in a night of happiness," he said, his eyes pleading and his face forming a simpering, cool and confident smile that he had probably given to too many girls, who have all probably fallen for. "If you know what I mean."

Arlette shook her head, her expression serious. "I am sorry but I should decline," she told him, her voice polite as she didn't want to further disappoint him or shatter his male ego. "I am here for something important. I cannot cause anymore trouble."

But to her dismay, the young sailor took it too personally. He rolled his eyes as he smirked at her, still confident—or arrogant. "Oh, now, don't be sore. I'll take us out and see the beautiful sights and me and you and my whole mates here will have fun—"

"I have already declined, so _you_ should not be sore," Arlette said in a more forceful tone, "and besides, I don't partake in _garçons_ like you!"

"What did you call me-?" he took a more threatening approach as he neared her, seething curse words under his breath, but Arlette stood firm.

The other sailors—including Faulkner—saw the commotion and tried to stop the young sailor from getting too close to Arlette.

"Enough!" Connor tersely bellowed and barked the sailor's name. "Barkwith! Back to your post! We're setting sail!"

Then the whole ship became busy once more as Arlette worded her appreciation and Connor nodded in return.

"Ah, women," Faulkner muttered, annoyed. "They cause trouble more than they thought they could handle!"

"It is August Barkwith's fault," Connor retorted. "Arlette did nothing. August should have kept to himself!"

"Ah, that chap, too," Faulkner snapped back. "Goofing around with his looks and boasting just because he's new as an Assassin! I could mash that pretty nose of his if I could."

"To Louisiana, Mr. Faulkner," Connor ordered, trying to change the topic to something that is at hand, as he turned the steering wheel to the desired direction. Mr. Faulkner, deciding to drop his distastes, continued to give orders on the crew as they unfurled sails and secured ropes, and soon the Aquila glided across the blue waters swiftly towards its destination. Connor gripped the steering wheel lightly, his focus ahead of the bow of the ship. Then, at the left of his eyes, he could see Arlette climb the stairs towards him and Mr. Faulkner, her expression pensive and weary.

"Captain Connor," she said, her voice quivering. "I wish to speak to you. It is important."

Connor nodded. "Of course." Glancing at Mr. Faulkner, he gestured for him to take charge.

"Cap'n," Mr. Faulkner politely answered as he took the helm.

"Follow me," Connor motioned for her with a wave of his hand. "We will talk at my quarters."

She followed him down the stairs and through an elaborate room just below the helm. Closing the doors behind him, Connor gestured for Arlette to sit next to his desk. As they settled on to their seats, Connor cleared his throat and asked, "What is it you want to talk about?"

Arlette's face looked worrisome, her eyes wide and glossy, like an anxious doe's. "It is about my friend, Dijon."

Connor leaned closer, his eyebrows furrowed. He didn't speak and merely waited for Arlette to talk. This perhaps made her more anxious, but she continued after exhaling a nervous breath. "I have told you that my friend, Dijon, was abducted by slave traders and shipped here in your country." She paused as she swallowed down her nervousness. "But that is… only half the truth."

Connor's eyes widened, his voice grim. "What else do I need to know?"

Arlette was silent for a moment, knowing that she had kept a vital part of information. "I… He has stolen something from me… an Apple of Eden…"

Arlette jumped in fright as Connor banged his hands on the mahogany desk in front of him as he stood up and glared at her. "Why didn't you tell this before?"

"Connor, no, listen—"

"He has stolen something from you, a valuable, dangerous item!" Connor's voice was bellowing, yet she could tell he was restraining his most wrathful mood. "Yet you still want to rescue a thief! How can you withhold such an information! A criminal is on the loose—"

It was Arlette's turn to become angry. "How dare you! He is nothing like anything you think he is!"

"He was a pirate, as you have said before!" Connor pointed his finger at her, his voice most accusatory. "Don't you think he would go back to his unlawful ways?"

Arlette's eyes were wild with fury; she walked up to him, regardless of his six feet of stature, and whipped her left hand across his face, making a smart sound of pain. Connor gasped and fell silent, his mouth open. Arlette's face was red, her chest heaved up and down, her breasts—or entire torso—seemed to threaten her stays to burst out because of her anger. She balled her fists beside her hips and spoke in a furious, hissing volume: "You do not know Dijon! If you would like to blame anyone, it would be me, as I have been too late to stop him board the slave ship to your country, holding the Apple, because he is afraid that he knew of traitors inside the Assassin organization!"

Arlette's breath hitched and she clutched her chest. She had never been this angry, not since when her own family was almost massacred when she was fifteen years of age—

She suddenly fumbled on her pockets to pull out two letters. She handed them to Connor, her hands quivering. Her anger had rendered her trembling for bursting like that. Connor took a furtive glance at her, his brows furrowed in concern and cautiously took the letters from her hand.

"Whose letters are these?" Connor asks, his eyes still locked on her features.

"Dijon wrote two letters," Arlette tells him as she regains her composure, exhaling a breath to release the tension that had crammed inside her chest. She swallowed before she continued. "But the truth is only one of them was truly written by him. The other was false, even though it bore an Assassin insignia as a seal."

Connor unfurled both letters: the first one, that bore the symbolic Assassin seal, was a thick white parchment, quite long and elegant. The handwriting was small and looping, like a true graceful scriber's handwriting is. The second letter was smaller; it was hidden inside a neat envelope, with its back bearing a looping scrawl: _to Arlette, from Dijon, please read with Marianna_. Inside the envelope, was a yellowing paper, about the size of dainty handkerchief; the writing was entirely dissimilar to the first and, unlike the first letter, it contained a sketch of a necklace. This took Connor's interest.

"This drawing of the necklace…" His brows furrowed further and his eyes widened. He had seen the design before—

Arlette spoke, "Dijon's necklace was stolen, he says in the letter, by none other than one of the traitors. However, he speaks of a certain item that he had had visions of since my father's death." Arlette's voice became soft, her anger before seem to disappear. "You see, my father works for the Assassins. However, he has never disclosed of anyone of the Apple he hid."

Connor glimpsed at Arlette, as though to see if she herself was speaking a truth. No matter how much he would like to help people, and no matter how taken he was with this woman, he knew that being cautious with liars or traitors was of utmost importance, as this is a way to guarantee his and his fellow Assassins their lives. Looking deep into her dark blue eyes and her hardened face, however, he could see she was not lying… so far.

"My father's ancestors had hid the Apple for centuries, ever since the early battles between England and France. It was a long struggle, but his family before him swore secrecy of the Apple, as there had been warnings from Assassins before who had been contacted by… Gods or Spirits, and it could also wreak havoc if it was controlled by a sinful and greedy being…" Arlette paused, her eyes widening as if seeing the chaos herself. She blinked and swallowed another lump forming, and then continued. "Dijon met my father before I was born. Dijon wore a Piece of Eden, given to him by his family before he was taken as a pirate slave in the Mediterranean. My father found him and knew of his Piece of Eden and turned him as his most loyal friend, telling him of the Pieces that they both have. Dijon is also my godfather."

Connor held his chin up, appearing defiant and authoritative despite his relaxed features, save for his piercing brown eyes as he scrutinized her.

He did not know what to make of her now after this revelation. Connor felt that she could be playing him petty in her own hands, yet… If she was a threat, he would have seen daggers and cannons and dead bodies by now, but Arlette carried with her a flintlock with less bullets than the least experienced shooter, a dagger and the small fortune she would use for necessary reasons; her life philosophy and beliefs are not of mad, ambitious men, though Connor had met mad, ambitious men who have good intentions; the fortune she has—a few gold pieces that had not been minted by any country, twelve gemstones, her own jewellery that she could trade with or pawn and the American-Spanish money worth only of fifty dollars—would not even be enough to buy her a ship and a captain to sink the Aquila. Or even hire mercenaries. Nevertheless, he was beginning to see the reason why Mister Faulkner was superstitious—and suspicious—around women and them being in ships.

Connor's brown eyes never left hers as they both scrutinized each other.


	2. Chapter 2: The Corsican Woman

**BTW, I have an Archive of our Own version of this and I think it would come in handy to read that, too, because me and Greg will post the erotic details there. Here in Fanfiction, there's a stricter policy on explicit stuff, so if we post the smut here, it will be cleaner so that your conscience will stay clean.**

Okay, this chapter is Connor's recollection of the first time he held a conversation with Arlette, though it isn't quite a normal one at that.

This is a long chapter so please bare with it!

Hope you all enjoy!

**Chapter 2: The Corsican Woman**

Connor always regarded women highly, of any race or color. It was the way the Kanien'keha:ka had been used to. Women in his village are respected with what they do for the community. His own mother, Ziio, and the Clan Mother of his village are proof of the abilities of women. Learning of the colonial ways, however, was a bit irksome and confusing to him; he had never seen such corruption even amongst the supposed high authorities of the community or the way men and women treat each other so lecherously, so violently and so rudely but was accepted as the norm.

Arlette is one of the colonial women he had come to know as different from the rest of the foreigners. Though he first saw her as a stowaway hidden in his ship by his own aunt, Jenny Kenway, Connor had forgotten about her entirely and let Faulkner scold him about stowaways and his aunt's behavior for letting her in his beloved Aquila. Connor did see her again, however, but did not know she was the stowaway; nevertheless, when he laid eyes on her in the City Hall of New York—with a dirk in hand and a blunderbuss in the other, as she released the slaves from being hanged—Connor's heart had bursted with thundering awe and he knew he had to see her again. Fortunately, for him, being an Assassin meant he was given permission (but who could have a power over an Assassin? The Assassin was beyond the law and exist for many purposes, including catching low-life thugs and defying governments) to chase possible criminals or terrorists around the area, and so he gave chase as she rode a horse Northward and into the Frontier. A lot of the civil guards were onto her, and many troops have blocked her choices of escape; however, Connor had ordered his Assassins to make a distraction, ranging from shooting the civil captain non-lethally to causing a stampede. The mayhem provided the cover, though one group of civil guards almost got her as they aimed for her horse; Connor threw a smoke decoy into there faces and shot one of them on the leg. But a civil guard managed to clip her on her shoulder.

He saw a trail of gunpowder, broken woodwork, a crowd of animals, irritated civilians, much more irritated civil guards, the footprints of the horse she rode on (which was likely to be stolen) and blood—her blood, leading out of the northern checkpoint to the Frontier. He followed her trail; she was at least more than thirty miles away from the checkpoint in New York but she rode on, and Connor thought her wound may not be that severe. But he hoped the predators of the forest didn't get to her yet.

When he did find her, he saw that she had made herself a bandage on her shoulder while the stolen horse drank from the river. She was washing her face as Connor crept much closer than he usually should be. Sensing she was not alone, Connor hurriedly hid behind a rock formation, much further obscured by a waterfall. He could not see her, however, but he heard her buckled shoes walking away and unto the forest once again. Creeping out of the rock formation and standing at the edge, he suddenly heard the click of her blunderbuss behind his left ear and her menacing voice asking why he had followed her. Connor turned around to see her face for the first time and realized she was familiar than he thought.

"Answer me!" She demanded, her blunderbuss six inches away from his face.

He raised his hands to gesture surrender and spoke gently, "you were the stowaway Mister Faulkner saw."

And that was all it took to change the expression on her face. Her blue eyes widened at the captain of that American ship, right in front of her; she remembered the old, kind woman, Jenny Kenway, and her talking of her nephew being a captain of a ship.

"You were the captain I saw with that old sailor," she said, her voice almost a whisper as she recognized him.

Connor nodded, unconsciously twisting a gentle smile on his face. He never smiled to strangers, but something had triggered to make him give her a small smile. Perhaps it was because he had finally seen the mystery woman his aunt Jenny had secretly stowed inside the Aquila; or how reckless he suddenly was on trailing this woman, giving his position earlier while she washed herself. Whatever the reason, Connor seemed to be not himself in some way.

Sensing no further harm from him, Arlette slowly lowered her weapon and began to walk away. Connor would have none of that, however.

"Why did you hide in my ship?" Connor quickly blocked her path, but she wasn't miffed about him as she casually strode to his left to go around him.

"Why were you following me?" she asked again in a more indifferent tone. Connor saw that her lower parts wore men's clothing: black breeches, perhaps the size of the smallest man to fit her well without making it look like she wore a tent; the boots are obviously bigger, though, and she had resorted to tying it tightly and buckling the clasp into its last hole. She wore a long brown hunter's coat over the dark blue stays, which seemed lower and more revealing than the usual design Connor sees of in middle-class women around New York, and a white chemise. He knew that there were some aristocratic women who wore their garments in a much more revealing manner for a formal occasion, especially when there are celebrations; sometimes he is confused as to why these women would become infuriated when a man so much as catch a glimpse of the cleavage for less than one second. But there are other women—mostly, older women—who find it a compliment that men look at their cleavages. Connor had lived with men and women who wore only a few garments in his village whenever the summer season would; it was natural for them as the season was warmer and humid, though added protection would be worn when going out for hunting. On winter, they wore the thickest hide skins and fur, both created from hunts and some, and more recently so, coats were purchased from a trade amongst colonial hunters. This woman, however, may have stolen some of the men's clothes.

"Well," Arlette's face leaned closer as she noticed that he had gone quiet and his eyes are on her chest, a disapproving look on his face. "Don't look at my chest as if I shouldn't grow a pair of them. Answer me."

Sighing and keeping his opinions to himself, he answered, "I had to follow you, thinking you could be a criminal and you could get killed before you could get a fair trial at least."

Arlette did not move, save for putting her dark blue eyes darting slowly up and down as she studied him. Connor was used to being looked at for having darker skin or merely having the face of his people. But she stared at him cautiously; no sign of racial malice was present in her features. She gazed at the Assassin symbol longer, though, and he couldn't blame her. The Assassin symbol, to the eyes of the innocent, seemed to catch anyone's attention and thought it to be a symbol of fear and mysticism or a cult that was formed long ago by the earliest settlers, such as the freemasons, but it isn't so but nor would it hinder of having any freemason at all. Her face was still apathetic, yet the twitch of her eyebrows, the clench around her blunderbuss and the swallowing of a lump told Connor that she may be anxious and distrustful. "I only did what should be done," she explained as she placed the blunderbuss in front of her as a balance, slightly leaning towards him. "People had been practicing slavery for thousands of years, and it is a bad story."

"So you only caused mayhem in the City Hall just to free the convicted slaves?" Connor asked, as if he was one of the pale colonists who practice slavery. He had only the Assassins, some of the politicians (but they practice it still despite voicing a different opinion on slavery) and some Templars detest slavery. Now a woman he barely knows was telling him that she caused a riot worth thousands of American money just to free three convicted slaves; he did not show it, but somehow at the back of his mind, he felt a rush of happiness—no, something much stronger than that—fill his mind. Yet, somehow it crept to his face and he smiled at her. It was only then he realized it to be being impressed—yet he knew there was more.

"Is that a rhetorical question?" the small young woman asked, confused. She had been eyeing his expression. After he had asked the question—the question of these high-chinned, hypocritical land-invading bourgeoisie—a smile appeared on his face. She thought he looked fascinated at what she had done.

"Why must you do that?" Connor asked her, sounding like a scold, though the grin did not disappear. "You have endangered yourself—"

Arlette waved her hand. "I have no time for your chatting. Look, I went there because I was looking for someone, a friend—"

Then she paused, suddenly reluctant to speak anymore of her motive. Waving her hands as a sign of refusal, she walked past Connor. "I don't want to talk to you! We don't know each other. And if you followed me because of my misconduct, then why don't you make the arrest? You are wasting our time."

Connor chuckled. "I would, but I would easily overpower you."

He heard her "hmph" but did not turn around anymore; she continued towards the stolen horse, intending to ride it once again.

"And besides, I had no intention of turning you to the authorities, even though it is what must be done."

"I didn't know Native Americans tease," she said in a mocking sweet voice, shaking her head in disgust. "Well, men love to tease, especially in teasing women of their power over them."

Sensing he might have said something offensive, Connor quickly took the reins from her hands, stopping her once again. "You held everyone in the City Hall. Power is not only strength."

Arlette scoffed, rolling her eyes. "And yet here you are, blocking our path." She said as she patted the horse's main.

Connor moved backwards and let the reins fell, putting his hands in front of him, clasped together, creating the signature humble pose he would do out of respect. Arlette seemed to see it so and gathered the reins, eliciting the horse to stand on its rear legs.

"You still didn't tell me why you would hide in my ship?" He politely asked, though there was also a mocking tone underneath it.

"A free passage!" She retorted as the horse gallopped.

When she was only a few feet away, however, Connor's voice floated above the chirps of animals and the fall of water.

"I wouldn't go there, if I were you!" He bellowed. "Not only are the civil guards are also taking that path, but wolves prowl that area! They will smell you and your wound! And the horse is the appetizer!"

Arlette paid no heed to the man long behind her as she rode her horse to the beaten path. Arlette didn't dare to look back at the tall American who followed her, though she wanted to as she thought he was quite masculine—yet, unconsciously haughty with the way he thought he couldn't handle herself. Well, at least she was not at all mortified with a gunshot wound at the top of her right shoulder. She was able to find some medicinal leaves and covered the minor injury. She was lucky that the bullet was not stuck even though it was not too serious. She did look back, though, but found out that she was too far from where they had stood before, or perhaps he had decided to leave her alone instead.

The horse was merely trotting on its path as Arlette admired the tall trees and even taller mountains that surrounded the forest. It reminded her of the mountains of Corsica, with its ancient Etruscan villages and Genoese chapels and castles; looking at the shadows of these thick, tall trees of this American frontier, it dazed her as the small rays of sunlight that permeated through leaves and branches played all over the grass, her arms, on the horse's maple colored hide, making her surrender to her thoughts of the past, of the days of being carefree as she and her brother, her friend Dijon and his family would lose themselves on the wide meadow of Ajaccio, rolling around tall soft grasses and climbing on the trunks of thick, old trees…

However, thirty seconds later, her daydreaming was interrupted as she could hear frenzied voices and galloping horses from an unknown direction. She grew terrified and flicked the reins to make the horse gallop.

"We look for that woman!" She heard a civil guard—probably the commander of the group—order his men as trained hunting dogs howled and barked madly, demanding to be released from their leashes. "Then we look for the other slaves she freed! They will have no trial! They will be hanged for their crimes of mayhem!"

Arlette swiftly turned her horse to the other direction as she heard the click of the leashes releasing the dogs; putting the horse into a gallop, the trees became a blur around her as she hurried. She was unfamiliar with the woods, though she had ridden horses much faster before as she and her brother used to race to the hills and mountains from the town of Corte back in her homeland… What she wouldn't give to be there again…

The horse galloped, as if increasing its speed was the only way they could survive this ordeal. True enough, Arlette caught the sound of mad growling dogs not far behind them. The horse neighed, though Arlette commanded the horse to keep going. She was not sure how many of the civil guards' dogs were behind her now, she just knew that losing them was the only way to get out. The snarls and barks of the dogs was making her much more terrified. She had never been bitten by a dog, but she would rather not find out how it would hurt.

Then the horse threw its head back, throwing her off its back, tumbling into the ground and hurting her wounded shoulder. She realized that two wolves have blocked her horse; the horse whined, throwing its front legs high up to defend itself. The dogs, however, were not far behind. Panicking, her shoulder smarting from the pain, Arlette stood up as quick as possible as she pulled her Blunderbuss off the ground and ran up into the forest, away from the path and from the wolves, leaving the horse behind as its neighs and whining could attract more of the civil guards to their location.

But just as she was able to climb out of the path, she felt a dog bite down into the coat she wore and tugged at her ferociously; she screamed as her hands dug deeper into the soil to keep from falling over to the ground and be bitten—or worse, be eaten. She turned her head around and realized that the hunting dogs and the wolves were snarling and biting at each other; a wolf was actually tugging at her coat, thinking it was her flesh. It tossed its head around as it tried to pull the coat off her; her hands became sore, but she held onto the soil as she tried to drag herself away from the wolf. Taking shallow breaths, her heartbeat became louder and erratic as the horse neighed louder still, facing its inevitable demise—

"Here! Eat!" A voice commanded as she smelled raw meat. The wolf that tugged at her coat suddenly unclamped its jaw and ran as it chased a meat. Seeing the opportunity, Arlette climbed up the small ravine and up into the forest and hid behind a tree—and saw the tall Native American flinging scraps of meat amongst the dogs and wolves, completely distracted. He was riding her horse, digging its legs on the ground and tossing its head as it tried to shoo away the remaining wolves that snarled its teeth at it; but it soon saw another pink, raw meat flying into the forest and the wolves soon chased it down until it ended up into a bush; the last of the canine chomped down the meat bait, completely distracted by satisfying its hunger.

Connor still kept tossing the meat around to make sure the dogs and the wolves would not chase them anymore. Once all the canines had been beguiled by the bait, Connor scanned the forest for the young woman. Seeing tracks of boot marks and hand prints on a small slope of mud that led to the uncivilized forest, Connor flicked the reins to gallop, chasing the woman.

Arlette ran as fast as her feet could; she could still hear the civil guards' voices but she knew they were too far and dispersed than before. She clutched her right shoulder from time to time, trying to soothe the bruises that came after she fell from the horse. Then, from ahead of her, merely thirty meters away, a large, chunky tree, perhaps as old as the forest itself, stood proudly in the middle of the forest. Arlette thought that perhaps she could hide above the tree until no more of the civil guards' voices could be heard and the dogs dissipate with them. She ran, smiling, seeing an opportunity present itself to her; her breath came in puffs and her hands ached after clinging desperately on the muddy soil she clawed, but all of that didn't matter! She could hide from them and they—

"Ha, ha!" Then the blunt side of the English musket hit her square on her forehead, knocking her backwards, but she was still conscious. A civil guard roamed above her as he pulled her up by her hair. The civil guard had seen her and hid behind another tree, catching her off guard when he finally hit her with the musket.

She screamed in anger as she swung her arm to scratch his face, but another guard caught her arms and pinned them behind her.

"Looks like this red-haired witch ain't got no more to run to!" He said arrogantly as she pushed her to their horses twenty feet away from the large tree she saw. She felt her hands being tied behind her by ropes. Then the other officer saw her gunshot wound.

"Hey, she's hurt," the officer said, concerned. "We should give her a medical treatment."

The first officer disagreed, however. "Nah, she'll be hanged. Not really the first time, seeing women get in trouble, but usually they aren't as pretty as you!"

To her horror, he nuzzled his face at the crook of her neck, kissing and sniffing her. She screamed and stomped her boot at his boot so hard, he howled in pain; she reeled her head back and hit the second officer square in the face, accidentally letting her go. She ran, her hands still tied on her back; she wouldn't be able to climb the tree, though her feet carried her there anyway, tears forming on her eyes. She heard them scramble to their feet as they grabbed their flintlocks and aimed at her—

BANG! BANG!

The sound was deafening and she crumpled to the grass, crying, near the large gnarly roots of the large, old tree. She sniffled and choked at her tears as she recollected her brother's face and Dijon's children embracing her…

"Are you hurt?" There came the urgent voice of the Native American; she turned her head to see him approaching her and pulling her up the ground and untying the ropes around her wrists. She realized there wasn't any other injury on her body save the one on her right shoulder. Her eyes stop at the dead civil guards who had captured her and knew that this man had killed them.

She shook her head. "No. No, no, I'm not…"

Connor took her left arm and proceeded to lead her to the stolen maple-colored horse, his voice worried. "We need to lose the officers. They are still at large; they would have heard the gunshots so we must make haste." He explained. He took out a dagger which flicked out of a contraption attached around his wrist and proceeded to cut the ropes on her hands. Then, pulling herself up into the horse, an uncomfortable sharp sensation suddenly came out of the wound in her right shoulder; she yelped but managed to pull herself up the horse; he came next, though he was behind her, which confused her. "You should be in front, you lead us the way."

Connor answered her. "It is best that I could be behind you to protect you. I can control the reins from behind."

And sure enough, his arms went from behind her then slithered to the reins, though nothing about the action was anything salacious; but perhaps that it's nothing to him as opposed to her, as she eyed his hands, clutching the reins solidly. Her hands also held the reins, her small hands next to his; he set the horse to a gallop and the speed of the horse took her breath away. However, the breathtaking swiftness of the horse and the unexplored part of the frontier wasn't compared to how she felt with the man behind her. She had never been with a Native American or anyone who lived here in the New World. Sure, there were Irish people, Germans and other foreigners she had seen in Europe that now live in the New World; but it is obvious that they lived here differently than their early settlers and their fellow people do in their original countries. She should be wary with him and she should've been more persistent at him to have been in front than being behind her. And yet, despite the frustration and being terrified of this man, she felt—she felt a certain allure to be close to her savior, to this mysterious man…

The whole forest seem to shift from thick sets of trees to a vast lake that was home to the most numerous beavers she has ever seen. The pine trees, no matter their height, was nothing compared to the blue, cold mountains farther away from where they are. She gasped at the sheer size of them, sloping high into sharp peaks then going down to soft, tumbling stones and structures only made by nature. Arlette smiled at the beauty of the untouched land, beautiful, proud and strong right before her.

"It is beautiful, yes?" The man behind her asked. She was dropped down back to the reality of his presence, yet instead of malice or indifference, she became solemn instead.

"Do you think more colonists would come here?" She asked as her eyes still settled on the mountain ranges.

He was silent and Arlette could tell he was finding difficulty to answer. "I hope that even if they do, they would not change it. I would make sure of that."

Arlette smiled. "I do, too."

Soon, the mountain ranges were far, far behind them; Connor further leed them to another forest with signs of settlement. A wooden sign they have passed by said _Concord. _The small village of Concord intrigued her; there were influences of both Native, Dutch and British houses, trades and livestock. She even saw maize for the first time and she beamed at the pale yellow color of the vegetables as it blurred her vision from the speed of the horse, like a watercolor painting; she would like to taste them someday.

Connor continued to let horse travel, sometimes slowing the being down to a trot, then later they would travel faster again, and Arlette began to wonder where he was taking them. She kept her mouth close, though, and her blunderbuss closer.

Then he set the horse to a trot, slowing down near a vast lake. A tall waterfall was right before them and the forest grew tall as her eyes took in the wall of mountains and tall pine trees. She saw an elk move slowly, not minding their presence, about twenty yards away, closely followed by its younger ilk. Although she knew the day was already in high noon or so, the fog was slightly thick and cold and the sunlight was nowhere to be seen that she felt it was already the end of the day. The maple-colored horse drank from the lake, relaxed and unhindered. Arlette closed her eyes and breathed the fresh air. Then she felt his hands on her right shoulder and she jumped away, not liking to be touched by a stranger, even though he had saved her. But why would he save her?

"I must see the wound," he reasons, his tone very urging. In his hands was a bandage and a small jar of crushed medicinal herbs. "I saw you fell from the horse as the dogs and wolves fought each other for your hide."

"Thank you for saving me," she retorted, cutting his explanation. "But I—I simply cannot trouble you anymore."

She takes from his hands the jar, however, further aggravating him, as she walks pass him and pulls the maple-colored horse near the lake. It tossed its head from her, too tired to let her travel with it. Arlette sighed; she was stuck with him.

"Where are we?" She suddenly demanded. "How long have we been on the horse? Do you intend to take me somewhere?"

Connor was silent, his eyebrows furrowed in annoyance and his large arms crossed in front of him.

Arlette became furious. "Answer me!"

"We have been riding for almost three hours now. We are near a place called the Homestead." Although not outright angry and bellowing, he was obviously in a bad mood. But Arlette didn't care. She squinted at him and he gazed back; they were both annoyed at each other. Then Connor spoke, "why aren't you grateful for me? I rescued you despite your misconduct in New York!"

She countered his response. "Well, that's it, isn't it? I—" Then her eyes travelled at his belt, where the Assassin symbol was. "—I am distrustful of you. You followed me here. Yes, I am grateful for your assistance and for saving me… But I don't know you. I don't want to know!"

She cast another glance at the Assassin symbol and Connor realized the truth. She turned away from him and began to walk away, clutching her right shoulder. Connor followed her then blocked her path, yet again.

"You know what I am, do you?" It was a rhetorical question.

"Why don't you just make the arrest?" She snapped back then offered her arms to him as if ropes would bind her again. "You're an Assassin! Why won't you? Or were you planning to use me?"

Connor shook his head. "It never occurred to my mind, not even now. However, I just don't see why I should arrest a woman who freed innocent people who are being forced for labor and become a part of an unjust society."

His voice was kind and full of genuineness; she hinted weariness as well. She had never met an Assassin like him before. Usually, at least in France, they were quite full of themselves, even though they fought for the poor and for what they believed in—though what they believed in contested with everyone else's, and this contrasting philosophies and views would lead to disagreements and murders. The French are rotting inside, just as the French aristocrats are rotting the French society with their greed and blindness of their poverty and their economic standing in the world. She knew then why a lot were escaping to the colonies and here to the new country…

"Is that why you wouldn't arrest me?" Arlette asked, her voice gentle. This man is just so different…

"There are other reasons—but they are mine to know only." He told her, his voice deep but gentle.

Arlette stared at his eyes—his deep brown eyes—and tried to see a lie or a hidden meaning. All she could see, however, was how she loved the reflection of the light hitting his eyes, making his brown eyes gleam.

They were silent, standing a feet away from each other. She was unsure now of what to do.

"Why wouldn't you trust me?" he asked.

Arlette clasped her hands together, anxious at the question. "Well, I—I have not met an Assassin quite like you. Although there are who are as kind, they have become fearsome and—I am afraid of them. I have been with them for a long time, but I… I have lost faith in our organization. That's why I was wary of you."

Arlette's arms travelled to wrap themselves around her in a protective manner, left hand clutching her right shoulder to soothe her wound. Connor thought she looked more vulnerable with the way her arms acted around her. Her voice also told him that she was being careful with her words, choosing what to say; she was still mentally guarded.

She continued. "I didn't plan to stow into your ship before. I pleaded to your first mate and promised to pay for the passage. Even with the help the old lady who was also boarding your ship, he did not allow me. Then the old lady and the French cook in your ship decided to stow me inside a passenger's room below the deck."

Connor's eyes widened. "A French cook?"

She nodded. "Please, don't be angry at him."

Connor chuckled, however. "I am not. I actually understand why he would be kind." _So Stephane also hid her as well, _he thought. Stephane, no matter how enthusiastic he was with being an Assassin, a lady or two would always make him more enthusiastic.

"I am looking for someone," she continued to explain. "I have been looking for him for months now, though I am afraid he has been… abducted because he is dark-skinned. The way many people are today, they are rendering dark-skinned people as slaves and many of them are shipped here in this country." She sighed a shaky breath; it was a contrast to see her vulnerable and passive than what she was earlier, all stubborn and angry; but Connor could now understand her, so far.

"I am glad you trust me with the truth of your journey," he said, smiling. "Here, I still need to tend to your wounds."

"No," she adamantly said, automatically reeling her right shoulder away from him. "I have been here long enough. I never planned to meet any Assassins. I only wished to do this on my own."

Connor was befuddled again. Why was he making such an effort for her anyway? First, he chased her down to the frontier because—well, he was impressed when he saw her free the slaves from the execution; then they were talking to each other, her being stubborn and distrustful to him and him being quite arrogant yet curious about her, while the fast-approaching group of civil officers were on their heels; then, after he had shot two officers to save her, she was miffed at his presence; they had soon become honest while they stood here in this forest, and yet she was still ambivalent of him. "I can help you with your endeavors. I have contacts—"

"No!" Arlette shook her head and started to run away from him.

Connor chased her, easily outrunning her and blocking her path; she gasped, but instead of stopping, she tried to push him out of the way; it was a fruitless plan as he enveloped his arms around her and tackled her, bringing her over his shoulder.

She screamed, taken aback by how his arms had surrounded her all of a sudden; she was sucking in more air as she became afraid. She had dropped her blunderbuss when she took off from the horse and wished she was not so careless of leaving it out of reach. Kicking her legs as a way to escape, he had pinned them easily with one arm while the other arm pinned her hips, which made her uncomfortable as his hands gripped a part near her buttocks.

Connor was confused; people usually agreed to his help. Deciding to settle her down on the grass near a tree, he gently settled her down to rest. Glancing at her face, however, he was met with a slap to his face.

"Don't ever touch me!" she screamed at him, her face flushed angrily.

Connor was shocked as he felt his cheek sting. He rested his hand there, trying to soothe it as his eyes slowly glance at her.

Arlette's heart was beating furiously, although it began to deflate as she realized her actions. She looked down at her left hand, the hand that slapped him so hard because she didn't want him. But she could see now that her own actions were quite hurtful. If she could still explain herself, however, she knew he would deem it unforgivable—or so it would be if she were on his place. She saw his eyes widen and the light reflected on his eyes and their soft brown pools. She saw the masculine bobbing of his throat and his lips slightly open in shock.

"I—" Arlette tried to say something but, as he slowly tore his eyes away from her and stood up, she knew she would not be forgiven.

"There is an inn not too far from here," he said, his voice passive. "Take the horse and follow the path. There are people there; they will tell you where the inn is. The inn is called Mile's End."

And with that he started to walk away. Arlette sat there, completely uncertain of what to do, even though this large gentleman had told her where she could stay. He went to the lake and started to wash his face and was filling his water skin; he was next to the maple horse, which was rolling and sitting on its spot, enjoying its own time.

Finally finding her strength, she stood up and walked. She found the jar of herbs on the grass and grabbed it; looking for the blunderbuss, she found it behind the Native American and silently took it off the ground. She didn't take the maple horse, however; she was sure he needed it more than she did as she was just going to the inn while he, an Assassin, had a long way to go perhaps.

She walked, her hand clutched on her right shoulder. She was reflecting on her actions on the Native American and the way he looked at her with his brown eyes. She didn't know that she would actually hurt him; men usually responded by hitting back—at least, men she met before did that. She could fight, though, but sometimes, conflict was not in her repertoire and, as noted by her brother, she elicited conflicts because of her outspokenness and people took the truth quite harshly. She can defend herself, but usually her brother or Dijon or Marianna, Dijon's wife, would be by her side. Today, she had never really thought of being alone until now. On that ship on its way to North America, some nights she did. What she wouldn't give to turn back the hands of time and just be in the company of her family and friends again…

What she wouldn't give to make things better with the Native American companion she made here in this new, cruel world…

Connor didn't dare to look back as he heard her move away from the tree he settled her in and take the jar and the gun. When he did, however, it was to find that the maple horse was still beside him, nuzzling at his head affectionately and her gone. He had panicked and then he became irritated at her stubbornness, then it gave way to becoming worried, concerned and then—finally recognizing the emotion when he first saw her escaping his ship as a stowaway and then as she freed the slaves in New York—that perhaps, in the weirdest way, he had fallen…

Quickly pulling the horse and riding it, he flicked the reins to a gallop, his heart racing. He didn't want to find out he had lost her and she falling into trouble…

But he sighed with relief as he saw her walking, trudging up the steps of the difficult path towards the Homestead. She was quite a hardy woman, reminding him of Myriam, of Dobby, of Prudence, of Ellen and her daughter Maria, then his mother Ziio...

The maple horse trotted towards her; hearing the sound of the horse, Arlette turned her head to take a glimpse of the maple horse and then the Native American, following her. She didn't stop walking as her eyes became round, surprised to see him. She prayed that there would be someone who would be kind enough to take her to this Homestead, but she wasn't supposed to see him.

Connor stretched out a hand for her to take. She was very hesitant; perhaps still wary or guilty of how she had slapped him across his face. He smiled, hoping that would make her change her mind.

"The Homestead is near," he said, "but walking there would take you about half an hour till you see the first house. The inn is at the center of it and quite far from the first house we will see."

Connor waited as his outstretched hand neared her. "Come," he said, his tone warm.

Arlette's eyes stared at his smile and at his hand, unsure. Her emotions were tumbling around her heart, making her mind a daze of decisions and feelings. She felt her heart would explode at his kindness and selflessness. He seemed to have forgiven her and her eyes gazed downwards, guilty. She put a finger on her eyes as a tear came down to her cheeks. Without another thought, she took his hand and allowed him to pull her up; clutching his arm, she made her way behind him as she sat on the horse. She wrapped her arms around him as she sniffed, her tears flowing down.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice meek and remorseful.

"It's all right," he reassured as he squeezed her hand gently. He flicked the reins again and set the horse to trot.

"Thank you," she said behind him as he felt her head rest on his back.

Connor didn't say another word but smiled instead, feeling quite elated even after the strange turn of events.

"I don't know what to call you," Arlette said as her arms wrapped tighter around him. He felt egotistical and proud with her arms wrapped around him so possessively, as if her life depended on his steering of the maple horse or his presence alone.

"They call me Connor," he said politely.

"They?" Arlette questioned. "You mean, they call you Connor. But what are you really called?"

"I was named Ratonhnhaké:ton in my tribe," he answered.

"Rey-dawn-ha-gey-doon," she repeated the name, though she didn't sound it was anything difficult. He thought it sounded quite pleasant despite the mispronunciation and her accent; the way the letter 'r' rolled on her tongue sounded so nasal and tender and the sound of the letter 'd' seemed to come out with puffs of breath.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Corsica," she answered, her voice solemn.

"I have never heard such a country before."

"It isn't," she said, in a more somber tone. "It is invaded by France. I am French, in a way."

Connor realized why she sounded sad as she mentioned her homeland. "I am sorry. I did not know that."

"No one would soon."

Connor didn't press any longer, not even for her name. But then she pressed on to him.

"You haven't asked my name," she asserted.

"Very well, what is your name?"

Then he felt her breath next to his left ear and her arms tightening around him in a good way, as if in an embrace (though it may have been), as she spoke to him. "My name is Arlette."

"Arlette," he repeated, letting the 'r' roll in his tongue which soon gave way to the 'l' sound of her name, finishing it breathlessly. Connor felt elated to finally know her name.


	3. Chapter 3: Recollections

This is an clean version of In Louisiana with Love. The uncut version would be on Archive of our Own under the same title.

This chapter reveals Dijon's letter and Connor's and Arlette's recollections of each other as they further understand one another.

Enjoy!

**Chapter 3: Recollections**

No matter how he had felt for her back then, no matter how many times he would defend her, he knew of the flaws of their relationship—or friendship, actually. Connor read the letters; the two letters spoke differently, with the professional-looking one speaking of Dijon's supposed intent to seek another opportunity in North America for his family; the other letter, according to Arlette was the real letter, spoke of traitors inside the Assassin organization and his intent to find a Piece of Eden that he kept seeing in his visions. It went like this:

_Dearest Arlette and my wife Marianna,_

_I apologize for the hasty actions that I would be doing for the next months to come. I will be leaving this country to go to America, to its Northern-most part, to follow my visions to find a Piece of Eden that has haunted me since your father's death. Yes, I know of this, as your father, Clément, had told me that my heirloom was a Piece of Eden, a precursor puzzle piece. He had shown me his; unfortunately, it will not be in the globe model of the Earth, where he had hidden it for years; I have taken possession of it, as I have felt its presence in your home, my dear Arlette. I have taken it with me, as I am on my quest to find the Piece of Eden—and its other remnants or similar artefacts—and I will be meeting with a man who knows such things._

_Although there is more to this than my searching of lost artefacts: my heirloom has been stolen from me, but I cannot disclose anymore of the truth in this letter of who they are and what they have done to me and to your brother as well; but I will say that they are amongst the Assassins and I beg you not to trust them all anymore. Arlette, please, take my family to a safe place and be with people who we ALL trust dearly. The de Saint-Prix family are the most trustworthy family I know and are not the Assassins I spoke of. Please, let my wife know I would come back for them after this entire dispute is settled. I will miss our children so much and they will be in my dreams as I sleep. I will see you here, in America soon, Arlette._

_I know none of those traitors would know of this letter as only Clément's most trusted friend and daughter would know of the combination of its hiding place. Please be careful. I will see you soon._

_Dijon._

Connor sighed as he folded the letter and handed it back to her. "So he is looking for the Pieces of Eden."

"Yes," she said, "and I am worried. In this letter, he tells of a man who is knowledgeable of a location of a Piece of Eden. I don't know which one is more dangerous: Dijon searching for these artefacts or him conniving with a man whom I have no knowledge about. And to make things much worse, he tells in this letter that there are traitors amongst Assassins."

Connor scrutinized her again, though this time he was not distrustful; he was passed that as he began to question Dijon's sanity and Arlette's choice of finding this man. Though if Dijon did have a knowledge of the Pieces, Connor can only think of him as a possible threat, despite the warnings he gave of traitors inside the Assassin brotherhood. But still, Connor cannot help but become disappointed that despite all that they have gone through for the last four weeks, Arlette has refused to tell him the most vital part of her journey, hinting that she was still wary of him. But now, in this letter, he could see why she was. Dijon had warned her of traitors after all. But it was perhaps a miracle she trusted him and a handful of few—a bit.

"I assure you," Connor placed a hand on her shoulder, his tone consoling her. "We will find your godfather and he will tell us—all of us—about the traitors in the Assassin brotherhood—"

"Siblinghood," she corrected. "There are women in your 'brotherhood' and they are called sisters, aren't they?"

Connor nodded, smiling. "Yes."

He had pulled his hand from her shoulder, but she soon placed her own hand on his cheek, the side where she slapped him. "I'm sorry—"

"It's all right," he said quickly as he gently pulled her hand away from his face, uncomfortable to feel her hand there. It wasn't that he hated being touched or that she was being rude to him—because she had come to know of his culture after she had pestered to learn about the Kanien'keha:ka; it was just that he didn't want her to know how warm his face would be at the slight touch of her soft hand…

"Was I rude?" she asked, suddenly recalling about the Kanien'keha:ka manners and she pulled her hand away quickly.

"No, no," he reassured quickly, not wanting to make her awkward. "We are very… close friends, aren't we? It is not rude. And besides, I have learned of the colonial ways of being courteous and polite and it seems touching the arms and the hands are the way to console or to greet someone."

Arlette licked her lips and smiled. "In my homeland kissing each other's cheeks and embracing one another are ways of greeting and saying goodbye to each other non-verbally."

Connor felt his face flush, though he remained composed and dignified. "I did not know that. I only see a few practice such things."

Arlette licked her lips again and bit on her lower lip; Connor couldn't help but be transfixed at her actions. Her pink lips became redder as her saliva moistened it. There was silence as Connor waited for her to speak, to hear her voice. She walked towards him with her arms outstretched. "Well, I must go now. I have intruded in your quarters and I have been quite rude with me slapping you—"

"You were defending your friend," Connor reasoned. "And I have summoned you to talk to me here in my room."

She nodded politely. "So I will see you when you leave your quarters, captain."

Then her arms wrapped around his waist, embracing him, quite surprising Connor; then she stood on her tiptoes to peck both the sides of his face. He felt her moist lips land on his cheeks while his arms made a futile attempt to embrace her back but he couldn't as embarrassment took over his emotions. He was still as she did this and finally left him alone. She pulled the door open and closed it gently behind her after looking back at him with a final wave of goodbye.

Connor stood there with the polite smile still on his face. He wished he could've embraced her, too, and let her apologize for her actions. But he didn't want to hear her sound so guilty; she had every right to defend her godfather, no matter how insane he seemed to sound after leaving his family and making Arlette follow him in a dangerous journey.

_Yet if it weren't for him, Arlette would not be here in your ship, _a voice in his head said and he couldn't help but agree. Connor glanced at the two letters she gave him and put it inside the drawers of his desk, not wanting to think about anymore of these conspiracies and traitors and insane visions and put them aside for another time.

Looking outside the window, his eyes scanned the ocean, its deep blue color so vast and rich it soothed him. His thoughts soon wandered at the time he had confided to Norris of how he would be courting a woman. Connor shook his head at the memory, chuckling to himself. Then he recalled their conversation:

"So it is my turn?" Norris asked, his voice enthusiastic. "Connor, you have confided to the right man!"

"I know, Norris," Connor said confidently.

"I am glad you came to me for advice! But before I could tell you what to do, I must know, what is she like?" Norris asked as he clapped his hand on Connor's shoulder. "What is she interested in? What is her personality? Is she the housewife-type of woman or perhaps like Myriam, someone who seems to be an extrovert?"

Connor thought for a moment. "I… don't know. She is—passionate of books, reading and writing them. She wants to meet my people someday and learn more of the culture of where I was born."

"She is an adventurer, then," Norris exclaimed. "And quite a lover of books! Hmm, so she is not a homebody? How about her mood swings?"

"Well," he thought hard again, his hand on his chin, "I must admit, sometimes I find her too stubborn and her temperament quite like a blazing fire. We had argued sometimes, but we make up after that, as I do not want her to hate me. She is independent and demands things so much, yet most of the time she would rather do things by herself, thinking that if others help her, she would be guilty and not be able to repay their kindness. She thinks so practically and thinks that help should have its conditions all the time. She is especially adamant that I don't have to help her all the time, though she sought Myriam's help about how to use a musket and a knife when hunting and skinning animals."

Norris nodded. "Quite a fiery one there, Connor."

Connor smiled. "Yes, yes she is."

Norris beamed at Connor's dazed expression. "Ho, ho, so that's your kind of woman! Anyway, as to courting her, perhaps spending more time with her is good, like a picnic or a dinner somewhere beautiful. You can take her to the Aquila and romance her there. She is an adventurer, yes, and she would perhaps love to see the ocean."

Connor agreed, nodding at his friend's words. "Yes, perhaps, at the Aquila I could tell her my feelings gently and ask Mister Faulkner of an inn we could stay for the night."

"That's the spirit, Connor," Norris beamed, enthusiastically clapping his hand on Connor's shoulder.

"Connor!" Arlette's voice called him from the manor. "I have gathered the bow and your arrows! You said you will teach me how to hunt with these! Myriam already taught me a week ago with a knife and a musket! Now it's your turn! It is part of the deal when you said I could teach you my culture and you could teach me your culture!"

Connor blanched. He had forgotten she was still in the manor. He hoped she had not heard anything.

Then Norris whispered, "The fiery ones, eh? Well I hoped I did help."

Connor swallowed as he took whatever ounce of confidence he had as he opened the door and left his quarters. Mister Faulkner waved at his captain.

"Captain!" He called. "We will be at Louisiana by night, as the winds are quite generous today!"

"Then we are fortunate indeed." Connor agreed as the sails are in full shape from being pushed by the strong breeze. The afternoon sky was still a bright orange color and Connor thought his luck would continue with Arlette. He hoped, though, that August Barkwith did not think the same. Comparing his own relationship with Arlette and August's with her, Connor felt he had a better chance that she would fall for him more easily.

"Mister Faulkner, I apologize," Connor said. "I would have to let you steer the Aquila for far longer for a moment. I—I need to speak to someone."

Mister Faulkner waved a hand and enthusiastically said, "not to worry, not to worry! I'll steer the Aquila for you while you talk to Arlette."

Connor blanched. "Oh, you knew."

Mister Faulkner snorted. "I don't need a thing to know you're affectionate to that dangerous siren." He sounded both miffed and arrogant when he said this. Connor knew of Mister Faulkner's temperament of stowaways, specifically on female stowaways, but Mister Faulkner can't do anything if Connor has feelings for her.

"Thank you," Connor said and left the helm to go below deck, where Arlette stayed in a passenger's bunker.

Arlette unfolded her night gown and gently settled it on her bed, preparing it for later. Sighing, she started to stretch her arms and shook them, not wanting to feel her own anger again. She had never been that angry since she had pushed that thug outside the window of her old mansion when she was fifteen, after the thug had led a massacre inside her home while they searched for an important item—which turned out to be the Apple her own father and his ancestors hid for centuries. There was another time when she got mad… _My brother, Cléante… _She remembered how he had gotten into a fight with a few infantrymen that patrolled her old hometown in Corsica and she bellowed at him for being so immature. Then, of course, her little havoc at New York City Hall, after releasing the three convicted slaves for running away from their horrible master. And now, recently at the horrible privateer captain Flintwitch as he and his crew maltreated the slaves and then her defense for her godfather and friend, Dijon.

Arlette sat down and stared out her window, looking at the vast ocean; its color reflecting the orange-red sky as the sun began to set. She could not see the sun, however, but her mind began to drift to the familiar setting of Connor's manor, in the room that was next to the small library; musty, but it began to smell like her own skin and her perfume, the still-budding flowers and the hard, earthy scent of trees, feeling quite at home. She appreciated Connor for insisting she stay with him instead of being in Charleston, though she wished somewhere in her heart Connor wasn't so overprotective of her and she wished she had insisted much more.

Although she didn't hate Connor (because the truth is, it was the opposite of that), they nevertheless argued most often. She recalled how she had to wrench her arm away from him for being too overprotective after he had settled her, for the first time, in his homeland called the Homestead. He had first kept her in a room in an inn called Mile's End while the hosts and owners of the inn consoled and fed her; Connor went away to call for the local doctor by the name of Dr. White. In all honesty, she has never met a doctor so objective and serious about his work, it seemed strange to her. Doctors and medical patrons in her own town were quite warm and motherly as there are some doctors there who are women and had incorporated there own traditional edible ingredients and methods that came all the way from across Europe and Asia. But Dr. White had managed her shoulder wound without difficulty and Connor—who hovered around her like a busy bee—kept insisting his presence in her room, much to her annoyance.

She could remember their argument like it was yesterday.

"Arlette, please," he begged helplessly as he tried to slather the herbal medicine from his own jar and into her affected shoulder. "Hold still!"

"The doctor will hold me still," Arlette snapped at him as she had insisted he leave her and the doctor earlier. "Look, I appreciated everything you've done, now go. Unless it's because you think I can't pay the doctor his service, well I have my own fortune with me and I can pay him, if you think I'm leaving for free!"

"That is not what I am here for," Connor objected, his features ferocious. Arlette glared back at him, though. "I just think that you are not to be left alone here yet. This place is new to you and I do not want any trouble happening here! And I have insisted to help with this minor procedure, so please hold still!"

Dr. White nodded his head sympathetically. "He's right. I know Connor and he has good background in applying medicinal balms and remedies, young lady. I helped in cleaning the wound, but he had insisted to stay with you because he is worried." As Dr. White explained himself, Arlette felt that he was talking to some child instead of a grown woman, which further aggravated her. However, she sat still on the chair as the cool herb was slathered on her shoulder. She avoided his gaze as much as possible, not wanting her flushed cheeks to be seen, though by the proximity of his eyes to hers, she felt he had seen her annoyed, flushed face.

From then on, it seemed that to everyone, the root of their arguments came from her being too confident of her own abilities and her capability to learn or adapt faster despite Connor's heed, and him being too protective or cautious or worried or all for her own sake despite the fact that most times she wasn't even in danger or was she causing it or she witnessing the cause, if it even occurred.

But deep inside—at least for Arlette—the root of their arguments stemmed from the fact that she didn't want to see or feel or touch or hear or even taste Connor, for he could be the very death of her. Ever since his actions to save her in the Frontier and the fact that they were three degrees apart when she boarded his ship, the Aquila, as a stowaway, Arlette had given in to her feelings—to actually falling for a man, to Connor!

She had turned six and twenty years of age—considered old to be a maiden to many people—three months ago but had vowed that she would never marry as she felt her duty would be for the people around her and her family; but after living with Connor, his aunt Jenny Kenway (to her delight to see again), Fillan McCarthy—the youngest recruit she has met so far to become an Assassin—the Assassins Connor himself leads and the people of the Homestead, Arlette was beginning to envy Myriam, Prudence and Ellen, as she saw the large carpenter and long-time Assassin, John O' Brien, court the widowed seamstress with such ardor; heck, she even envied Dobby, of her deeds for her people before and after becoming an Assassin and having tasted Connor first—literally! Arlette recalled the time she had a conversation with her at Mile's End. Dobby was already enthusiastic talking about everything with her, even before they had bought any liquor; she was very amicable and cool-headed that Arlette both admired and envied her.

They were talking about almost everything, and soon Dobby got around to talking about men. Arlette asked Dobby's experiences with men and learned that Dobby was the first woman Connor had, to her slight dismay. Dobby was lucky.

"Oh, he was sweet, but inexperienced!" Dobby exclaimed as she recollected her time with Connor. "I'm not into marriages and all; nothing wrong with that, mind you! But it's just that, I already have duties to my people, to the Assassins! Not to mention I'm havin' to train some recruits meself!"

"You lead a hard working but adventurous life, Deborah." Arlette complimented, trying to hide her jealousy of Dobby's more adventurous spirit.

"Oh, it's Dobby, lassie!" She corrected with a chuckle. "Anyhoo, Connor told me he had never really pleased a woman in his whole life, then I figgered I could teach him how and of course, there is only one way to that!"

Arlette swallowed hard, all because she didn't really want to know how Dobby taught Connor in her bed and also because she wanted to know how she had pleased him, just so she could know if the time ever came.

Arlette leaned close, trying not to sound or look too interested or excited. "Oh? You had him."

Dobby smirked and blushed all at the same time. "Quite a huge man, Connor, and the most well-endowed piece of work I've seen in years!"

Arlette felt her legs would give away and her hips suddenly reacting inside the linen she wore underneath her skirt. Thank goodness, Dobby doesn't have to know how much of Arlette's imagination was already running wild! Dobby bit her lower lip.

"Oh, how he shook violently! He had never so much touched himself! He said he did that when he was young but that was all when he was a wee lad! Oh, how he almost didn't quite fit in my mouth!"

Arlette fought not to moan or make any movement that would give away that she liked how Dobby was entertaining her about Connor's first time. She slowly twined her left leg to her right leg, appearing to cross them; her thighs, however, set to work as it made contact to the linen that protected her vagina to the skirt, making a slight friction.

"How big was he, if you would tell me?" Arlette asked, sounding curious but not all too lecherous.

Dobby's eyes blinked furiously while her mouth twitched in a delighted smile. "I can't remember! Didn't have a measuring tool with me! But he was impressive! But size is not performance."

Dobby's tone became less flighty and more serious. "He had let me do all the work, even with me teaching him how to use his hands on me. But he was too embarrassed. He lasted longer, but I had wished his hands and lips were braver, though."

Arlette didn't know what to feel after hearing Dobby's disappointment; however the feeling of being much happier that Dobby was disappointed was one of them. But Arlette showed sympathy as she patted Dobby's shoulder. "Perhaps, he will agree again to be with you. He could be better next time."

Dobby shook her head, chuckling. "No, no, I would prefer just one time with any man. And Connor deserves a better woman than me. But I'd like to think he has learned from me some things about what women want!"

Arlette nodded encouragingly. "I'm sure he has!" _I know he has!_

Then Dobby's eyes squinted playfully at her. "So, do you have a lover? Been in bed?"

Arlette shook her head. "No, the last lover I had I told him I was not ready and perhaps he was not really for me. But I have never been in bed with any man."

"Oh, you're a virgin!" Dobby exclaimed, sounding a bit mortified. "I hope I wasn't too graphic about Connor's penis!"

Arlette chuckled. "No, no, I know what they look like."

"You do?" Dobby asked, confused. "But you said you never had a man before, unless it was an accident you saw one."

Arlette swallowed. She should've made something up or fibbed about her supposedly-intact maidenhead. "I-I had been raped before by thugs. They—invaded my home before."

Dobby's eyes became round. "Oh, no, I-I shouldn't have asked…"

"It is of no consequence," Arlette waved her hand to show her she is not vexed. "Me and my brother showed them that they would not harm me and my family again. But I know they are still at large."

Dobby smirked and nodded her head. "Tha's right, show 'em! No man should leave without knowing the consequences of hurting women! Hmph!"

Arlette chuckled, taking Dobby's compliment heartily. "Thank you."

"But you're still pretty much a virgin," Dobby pointed out, "not knowing anything about _real _lovemaking!"

Arlette nodded. "Yes, I don't know as much as you."

Dobby threw head back and waved a hand. "Oh you! Well it was a good thing I told you about Connor!"

Arlette kept her face polite and calm as Dobby began to talk about Connor again.

"Connor is sweet, but I've said it already!" Dobby told her in a matter-of-fact tone. "And if you're looking for a good man, Connor is that man!"

"Dobby, I don't think he would just suddenly agree to elope with me," Arlette explained. She knew the reality that her feelings—her well-hidden feelings—are met one-sidedly and Arlette felt it should be realistically that way. "We are friends."

Dobby rolled her eyes and snorted. "Oh? Well have you heard him speak of you? I would be with him and he would worry the littlest things! He says he has to find the tea France favors just to please you! And the right eggs! He worries he is not sending the right eggs to the bakery you work for in Lexington!"

Arlette held her breath, unable to realize how he fretted for her sake. She had expected something like this; she had imagined him to be such a worrywart that she made a joke to herself that warts would come out of his face because of his fears. But this time, the revelation made her heart flutter.

"Oh, Connor," Arlette managed to say, trying to sound that his oversupportiveness was only overbearing, but it wasn't. "He acts like I'm some child! He should worry about his aunt."

"Oh, don't get me started how he worries about wee auntie Kenway!" Dobby exclaimed as she began another tirade of Connor's worrisome attitude, but Arlette only half-listened to the whole conversation.

Since Dobby's revelation, Arlette had been kinder to Connor and had thanked him as much as she could. She would give him and Aunt Jenny as much pastry or exotic chocolate drinks that she had concocted; most of the time, if there were leftovers, she would travel with Fillan back to the Homestead and give away all the confectioneries as much as possible. Mister Faulkner—whose grudge for her would temporarily go away—and the crew of the Aquila were the most frequent eaters as they were still out at night in case for a journey that Connor would need for his contracts.

Arlette loved how Connor delighted in the smell of chocolate or vanilla, a foreign food ingredient he had seldom seen and never tasted.

"Is this some sort of perfume?" Connor asked her as she showed him a bottle of vanilla extract.

"No, it's for eating." She explained, walking much closer to him so he could see that she was blushing for him. "It's an ingredient for baking cake or bread or any pastry. It's called vanilla."

"And the brown pebbles?" Connor pointed at the bowl she held, looking very curious.

Arlette took a piece of the chocolates and tried to put one inside Connor's mouth. "Here, eat one."

Connor, bewildered, still did what she said. Reluctantly opening his mouth, Arlette warned that it could be too hard for his teeth and that he suck on them inside his mouth.

"Don't bite it too quickly! You might not like it." Arlette warned and she put a hand on his face and tried to look if he was doing what she said or not.

"I will like it, don't worry," Connor beamed as he slightly opened his mouth to show the still-whole piece of chocolate. He scrunched his face as his teeth decided to bite carefully; Arlette, worried he might dislike it and spit, explained its flavor to him.

"It is very rich," Arlette cautioned. "Quite strongly sweet and it has a slight salty-bitter aftertaste, very different from sugar, because it's sweetness is thicker."

Connor chuckled. "It is delicious. It is very rich, it almost filled my mouth with its flavor. What is it?"

"Chocolate," Arlette answered. "Grown in the southern colonies by Spain. I kept some for _tante_ Jenny."

Arlette kept her eyes on Connor, beaming, but not too widely. She didn't want too look too enamored, but she at least wanted to look sincere—_very _sincere.

"I am sure she would love them," Connor answered, beaming equally. Arlette loved how he would smile; it showed more of his cheekbones and how his brown eyes—his chocolate brown eyes—twinkled.

A lone star twinkled against the dark orange sky; Arlette sighed at the lovely sight of it but was soon joined by other twinkling stars and she beamed wider. She sat there, but for how long, she wasn't sure, but she was there, sitting in the bed, long enough to see how the sky darkened further; the color was no longer red, but it appeared brownish, signalling the start of the night.

The brown color of the sky, splashed slightly with black and grey clouds and the small stars twinkling, reminded her of Connor's eyes.

They were brown, darker in the corners, yet warm, deep. His eyes always caught the smallest rays of light and it would be reflected in his eyes; Arlette sighed heavily, feeling an aching feeling on her chest as the image of his eyes lingered.

She shook her head.

She shouldn't be musing on the past now. If she wanted to set things right with Connor, then she should find a way! _He deserves the right things… and the right woman. It may not be me, but I have to be someone just as good for him._

She then pushed the door open and left her room, thinking. However, she heard the familiar rustle of fresh meat being brought to the counter in the kitchen and she went to meet Stephane Chapheau, the cook of the ship, to see the meal he was preparing.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle!" He greeted enthusiastically as his cleaver went down on the pink, thick meat he tended on.

"Bonjour," she greeted back, moistening her lips at the sight of a long line of thick meats of chicken, pig and turkey hanging on the wall. "Will we have roasted turkey today?"

"Not roasted, though, even though many of the men insisted we celebrate our victory over that slave-trading ship we had a tussle with," Stephane said. "I am making a stew today with only one kilo of meat turkey. I plan to zest them with lemon and limes, though, so to prevent those piratical diseases! Connor is afraid we would become ill and he only wants his crew in good health."

Arlette hummed in agreement. At the mention of Connor, she was suddenly daydreaming of cooking a meal for him only…

"And for dessert?" Arlette asked again.

"A wine jelly mold with creamy custard," Stephane answered happily. "I have borrowed the recipe from a Virginian cook, though, just to be different. But I will make it creamier and moister, just as we French should love it!"

Arlette chuckled at the mention of their nationality, then at the thought of cream on Connor's lips…

She was beginning to become guilty again when she slapped him when they were talking inside his quarters. He was right that she only defended Dijon, but she nevertheless felt unworthy of being helped by a kind, muscular, gentle, warm, hardened and tall, masculine man like Connor. If only there was any way to pay him back his selflessness…

"Stephane," she said as she observed the dead turkey's further mutilation. "What would you do to apologize to a… let's say, a lover?"

Stephane snorted. "Hmph! I would give her the best time of her life! Give her the best wine, nuzzle her neck, kiss her, tell her how I love her so much and then, if she and the wine agree, we will make love next to the sea until we could no longer move from our own sheer bliss."

Arlette chuckled. "I think I would do that."

"No, no, no, no, Arlette," Stephane waved his hand to disagree, laughing. "I was only joking. If you want to apologize, you apologize with all your heart… then you make love! Hm, oui, yes?"

"Yes!" Arlette answered delightfully as Stephane laughed.

"Why do you ask this?" Stephane questioned.

"I only want to know from you," Arlette answered. "You have quite a unique but wise take on things about life."

Stephane agreed, nodding. "I am smart, eh? But are you really going to apologize to this lover of yours? Do I know this man?"

"No," Arlette answered quickly but casually, not wanting to spoil the truth. "You don't know this man."

Stephane grew suspicious. "You should tell me who this man is, so I can get a closer look at him and tell you my _wise _comments about this man!"

Then Connor approached the kitchen, his heavy boots alerting Stephane immediately. He turned to see Connor and waved at him happily with his cleaver.

"Connor!" He greeted.

"Stephane," Connor greeted back, his hands clasped in front of him in a polite manner, his shoulders squared and face dignified. He smiled at the cook and then at Arlette. "Arlette," he greeted her, though more sweetly and his voice much deeper.

"My captain," she greeted with a slight nod and curtsy. She fought not to bite or lick her lips or even blush at the sight of him. Oh, what she would give to saunter towards her captain and kiss him with her tongue and grab his—

"Stephane, if you wouldn't mind," Connor spoke to the cook, "I would like to speak to Arlette."

"Go, go," Stephane said, waving his cleaver again. "She was pestering me about the food and the sex and things I normally speak about! Go!"

"You weren't speaking about sex!" Arlette interjected quite defensively. Connor saw a flush of red on her cheeks and he grinned. "Liar." She managed to retort and went to Connor, giving him her most lovely smile.

_This is it, _she thought to herself, preparing for the most significant part of her relationship to Connor. _I would tell him everything…_

**A note from Gregory the Co-Author:**  
**If you boys and girls are getting too antsy about the smut chapter it's going to be on Chapter 6, so just hold on a little longer, k? Anyway, next chapter is a fluff so I hope that satisfies your cravings. Thanks for reading our story, ladies and gents! Fellow Assassin fan out!**


	4. Chapter 4: At the Bow of the Aquila

**Note from Greg the Co-Author:**

**Aight! This is the Fluff-Fluff! Get ready to read the gushiest chapter me and my co-author The Bee's Tales have come up with!**

**Blech!**

**I mean, aawwww!**

**So Arlette finally confesses, in a way, that she loves Connor and Connor asks her on a date.**

**Yeah, I'm not dropping too much, yo! SO go ahead and read!**

**Oh, and Aveline finally makes an appearance and this smoothly segues to the next chapter of where Aveline shines her Assassin skills, AWw YIIiiiss!**

**So enjoy!**

**Chapter 4: At the Bow of the Aquila**

Connor led her above the deck; although he touched her back as a polite gesture to lead her, Connor wished he could hold her hand instead. Above the deck, Arlette breathed in the salty air of the ocean and smiled, loving the late afternoon sky. The sun was already setting and the skies on the port side of the Aquila grew darker in shades of brown, purple and dark blue. Connor held out his left arm for her to slip in her right arm and she did, taking his gentlemanly gesture quite lovingly, though she bowed her head so he wouldn't see how pink her face grew. She couldn't believe it—they were arguing about Assassins and traitors and pirates minutes ago, and now here they are, romantically side-by-side together—or perhaps, Connor was just being chivalrous towards her, which is usual of him. _I should not expect too much of this, _she thought glumly. _I am here to confess, for his sake._

Connor fought to breathe too deeply or exhale with delight, trying not to falter his confident demeanor. He knew, inside, he was weakening; his palms perspired and his heartbeat much faster, despite trying to remain calm. But it was difficult; he is beside the woman who had made his stomach turn and feel ticklish inside, like the little feathers of ducklings brushed the linen of his stomach inside; his heart would ache after an argument with her, knowing he should've controlled his temper more; or whenever she would come back with an apology and tried to reconcile in a small way by giving him gifts, like new arrows for his hunting or small chocolate pieces; or gestures of kindness like trying to fix dinner for him and his aunt every chance she could. Arlette made him feel everything all at the same time; but mostly, Connor always felt a warm ardour and concern for her, and it grew almost every day.

He returned her friendly actions with practical gifts. For instance, he had made and given her a new pair of deerskin shoes so she could easily trudge much more difficult terrain in any season whenever she wants. Since she had learned hunting and she would travel miles to sell (or even give away for free) the baked bread and pastries she had worked on in the small bakery in Lexington, he thought she shouldn't be slaving herself away on painful, aristocratic shoes. Then there was that time when he had insisted she live with him and aunt Jenny in the manor instead of her being in a paid lodging with tenants in Concord; he could never forget the time he was victorious in persuading her.

She was adamant that she could live by herself and work for a bakery to pay for her living; Connor, however, was having none of it. As best as he could, he pleaded and reasoned with her that the manor would be a far better lodging as it is surrounded with friends of the Homestead community, safer than some place in Charleston, usually littered with dangerous and lecherous men. He implored how Aunt Jenny would love to be with her, as they had been acquainted before.

Arlette was being practical, however, with the distance, as Charleston was closer to Lexington than the Homestead, which was in the coasts of New England; Connor then suggested that she could borrow one of his horses for her to ride there, or he could even escort her using a coach.

"Please, Arlette," Connor pleaded as he gently placed his hand on her shoulder. "We, Aunt Jenny and I—I would be truly delighted that you would live with us."

Connor recalled how he sounded quite desperate to have her with him in the manor; that must have given him away and revealed his true feelings for her. Or perhaps, she only felt so sympathetic of his pleading, of being an honourable, concerned, overprotective man, that she relented.

However she had agreed to stay with him, though, Connor might not really know. But he was happy she agreed with him. And with everything settled, Connor and Arlette left the lodging in Charleston; he had not stopped beaming until they had gone back. By that time, Aunt Jenny welcomed them back and was curious why Connor was much happier than she usually saw him.

"What are you grinning about?" Arlette asked as they reached the bow of the Aquila, a curious smile on her face.

Connor felt more feathers brush inside his body, feeling something was about to flutter; he smiled as he saw the sparkle of her blue eyes and the shimmer on her dark red hair, flowing around her as the swift breeze bellowed. She gave him an equally radiant smile, staring into the depths of his brown eyes; he could feel that she can see his spirit, read its very thoughts of her and he couldn't help but feel more affectionate as laid himself barer to her.

Without answering her, his hands crept towards her shoulder and pulled her to him; she complied with ease and tucked a strand of red hair around her face, only to find Connor's fingers as he did the same with her hair. She giggled; he seldom saw her giggle. He had been so used to her frown or disapproving or headstrong expression. He knew from her little lessons of French language and Corsican culture that she came from hard times despite being born of aristocratic background. The continuous rebellions around the island of Corsica forced her and what remained of her family to move somewhere in France where there was less evidence of the monarchs' corruption and greed, though for how long would that be, time would only tell. Arlette used to live in a small town in Marseilles, where her father was born and had grown up, after moving from Corsica. Although a noble owned the town, it was a simple farming town; there, she had described her world to him and he told her that he would one day bring her back there with her friend, Dijon, with her family complete and safe. After his declaration, she had given him a giggle but quickly covered it with a cough, changed the subject and began to pester him about maize or corn and its Haudenosaunee legend in the Three Sisters. It was odd how she would easily change from being so honest to her guarded self once again. It is a treasure, he admits, to see and hear her more of her guarded, wary and headstrong self morph into something…opposite of them, and Connor believes that there would be a day she would be.

They continued to gaze at each other silently as she let Connor's hands trace a light trail on her upper arm then lower towards her elbows. Impatiently, she responded by putting her fingers on the sides of his torso, chuckling.

"Answer me!" Arlette demanded, but her tone was light-hearted and very coquettish. She poked him in his sides to elicit a tickled reaction, though he gently swatted her fingers and laughed at her futile effort.

"I don't know how to answer your question," he bluntly confessed as he suppressed her fingers and brought them close to his chest. "But I only feel quite… happy with you. I have almost forgotten about our argument earlier."

Connor soon realized that wasn't a good idea; her face fell instantly and bowed her head, looking quite guilt-stricken. Connor furrowed his brows, befuddled. He gently pulled her chin up with his fingers. He asked, "What is the matter?"

Arlette shook her face off his fingers, avoiding his gaze. "I—I know, I was overwhelmed with emotion when you said—things about Dijon. I could not take it…"

Connor cupped her face with his hands, easily enveloping her in his palms and slowly made her look at him. And he saw that there were tears forming around her eyes, and his heart ached.

"I'm sorry," Arlette continued as tears rolled down. "I only meant to do this on my own. It was an accident that you met me and you thought I was lost—"

"It was not an accident," Connor said to her with conviction. "I followed you to the Frontier and from then on, I—I wanted to help you—"

"—because I was alone!" Arlette countered. "I was helpless, I admit it." She looked away as she was quiet for some time, trying to find words to express her grief. Then, she said, "I should never have met you."

"What is wrong with me?" Connor asked, his tone morose.

"Nothing is wrong with you," Arlette assured. "But every time I am with you, I felt more conscious of my weaknesses. My stubbornness to learn everything so I could survive on my own, me being stern with you, being reckless or foolish in front of you… I knew I was only putting up a façade of being independent and strong, but I know everyone could see, that Aunt Jenny even knows, that I was only calling your attention and your approval, without even my knowing."

Arlette was breathless and smiling at him, moving much closer to him than he expected; she was becoming much barer, much more honest than ever before—was she also telling him that…?

"Arlette," Connor managed to say, but no other words became comprehensible for him as he struggled to find his voice, the right words to say to her.

She, however, took this as an opportunity to continue. "Connor, I would never ask any other man be with me today or before or even days beyond but you."

Suddenly, the whole world became much more beautiful: the ocean was much bluer, the skies less cold and the heat of the warm Southern breeze embracing his heart, his soul, his entire being; he heard and felt his own heartbeat much stronger and the feathers inside his stomach floated around as the little ducklings took a leap of faith and soared, soared to the wind and took their destiny.

Connor was overwhelmed with emotion that he pulled her to his body and enveloped her inside his warm, masculine arms. And she heard his wild heart, pounding in the same rhythm as hers, all raw, pulsating and loud, hammering inside their chests as though they are connected together.

He felt her arms reach around his waist and hugged him back. She sighed in his arms and felt her whole body melt unto his.

"Oh, Arlette," Connor murmured as he kissed the top of her head. "I am happy to hear such words."

"And I'm glad that's out of my chest," she answered back and she planted kisses on his bare neck, near his Adam's apple. Feeling her soft lips against his warm skin, Connor slowly pulled away, confused and bashful at her sudden affectionate actions. "Arlette, why are you kissing me like that?"

"Oh," Arlette complied and pulled away as well. "I'm sorry. I thought you would love to be kissed in the neck."

Truthfully, he did love it. But he worried that they were becoming too intimate. They have only partially reconciled, and Connor has yet to tell her his feelings, his love confession. It was only fair that she hear his side as well.

"I did, bit I still have to tell you something significant as well," Connor told her, to which she gave him a coy grin. He continued, though every ounce of his effort had to take effect as he concentrated on his words rather than her seductive gaze. "I wanted to speak to you regarding of my feelings as well. But first, we must take care of the information regarding your godfather, Dijon. I contacted another Assassin in Louisiana. She has agreed to help us narrow our investigation on your godfather. We will be in Louisiana soon tonight. And after we converse with my contact in Louisiana, I—"

Connor paused and, despite the dim skies, she could see his cheeks had become pink; his voice softened and his smile a small lovely line. "I was hoping—well, if you would want to spend time with me… so we could become… closer and understand each other…"

Arlette gave him another coy smile. "Are you asking that we spend a night together?"

"In Louisiana, yes," Connor sheepishly answered. "If you would like to."

Connor gazed at her as her features crinkled in such a delightful way he felt more feathers brush the linen inside his body and a ticklish sensation engulfed his heart, the anticipation making him quite nervous.

Arlette giggled and buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, her mirth bubbling and contagious. Her arms tightened around his waist before she answered him sweetly. "I would love to, Connor." And she planted another kiss on his neck; a long, yearning kiss that somehow rendered Connor trembling in an emotion he knew he felt before, on the day when his virginity was finally taken away.

"What's the matter?" Arlette asked, concerned. She, too, felt his body tremble.

"N-nothing," Connor managed to regain his composure and stood still, hoping to fool her. He didn't her to know that she was the reason of his barely leashed control. He prided himself that he managed still. "I—I am glad you are taking my offer."

Arlette's smile grew wide, licking her lips. "I'm glad you offered, though I will repay every bit of your kindness, of everything you have done for me."

Connor shook his head. "There is no need for that."

Then her face contorted into a seductive manner and closed the small gap between them even more as she brushed her abdomen to his, giving a very erotic contact despite the barriers of his trousers and her long skirt. He took the hint with a suppressed moan.

"No," she whispered to him, her blue eyes much darker, much more intense; her voice became throatier, sweeter as she planted a lovely kiss on his chin as his height proved to be an obstacle for their lips to meet, though it didn't stop her from giving the message of her desire to him. "I intend to pay back at least a small part tonight."

Connor opened his mouth in slight awe, breathing shallower than he realized. He swallowed before he found his voice again, which was quite husky. "I would love to… Arlette."

His voice faded into a breath as he continued to breathe shallowly; he felt his blood travel around his face, knowing he was blushing. Their arms are still wrapped around each other, his arms around her hips while hers clung on his shoulders; her hands slid down to his chest and began to trace patterns on his uniform, wishing they were bare, hot flesh instead. She gazed up at him and her seductive, confident expression was once again the face of a meek and awed woman, with her love on her dark blue eyes and desire on her dark pink lips. Her breathing was just as shallow, anticipating; Connor's gaze went lower as he saw her chest. She wore the fashion of middle class working women, though he believes that even the wealthiest woman would be jealous of her breasts as no fashionable stays or corset could give her the amount of cleavage she desired compared to Arlette's, who wears the simplest clothes but could still impress any man.

She chuckled and her chest seems to jiggle from her action, further teasing him.

"My face is up here," Arlette playfully scolded him as she pulled his face up to gaze at her. He blinked furiously, trying to erase further lewd images of her breasts, or any part of her flesh. She chuckled at his befuddled expression as he furiously blushed further.

"And _my _face is right here!" Came Mr. Faulkner's sharp voice. He crossed his arms across his chest, his expression a cross between being serious and a look of amusement.

Slowly, the two lovers let go of each other; Connor pretended to scratch the back of his head while Arlette straightened her dress awkwardly. Behind and above Mr. Faulkner, most of the crew had seen the commotion and were chuckling and whispering to each other, grinning from ear to ear. August Barkwith, the young man who courted Arlette earlier, however, was nowhere to be seen.

Connor cleared his throat and asked, "What is the matter, Mr. Faulkner?"

Mr. Faulkner uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on either side of his hips, suppressing a knowing grin. "We will dock near the rivers of Mississippi within four hours, as the winds continue to be gracious. If this continues, we will reach Louisiana smoothly. And I believe Mr. Chapheau will be signalling a celebratory feast tonight."

"He is almost done," Arlette lightly interjected. "We will have Turkey stew today and a delicious dessert!"

Mr. Faulkner hummed as answer, still suppressing the knowing grin that twitched at the corners of his mouth. "I will see you all at the dining hall later." And he left to attend the helm once again, telling off some of the crew who had been peeping at them.

There was awkward silence as the sound of the winds and the ruffling of the large sails filled the quiet. Connor's hands were politely in front of his abdomen, his fingers laced together. His eyes cast downward, a tinge of pink still across his cheeks. He feels like a child again, shy and guilty. _Why am I staring at the floor? I must say something._

"Arlette," he spoke after breathing out his nervousness. "I will see you below deck, at the dining hall."

Arlette, however, was looking far away, across the vast ocean. Following her gaze, he realized she was gazing at the shadow of a land mass, the Spanish colonies. They are still quite far away, but not for long.

Arlette slowly peeled her gaze away from afar and gazed at him, her lips slightly opened and a look of hope written across her face. Connor stepped forward and gently squeezed her left shoulder encouragingly.

"I will see all of you, yes," she finally answered. "And I have not forgotten your offer."

Connor smiled even more. "I am looking forward to for our time together."

He gently pulled his hand away from her and, not even breaking the gaze they gave each other until he had completely left the bow, tilted his head in a gesture of goodbye and left.

Connor strode to the helm after; Mr. Faulkner greeted him as he made it there.

"Cap'n," Mr. Faulkner greeted enthusiastically.

"Mr. Faulkner," he said, sounding breathless and excited. "The address Aveline has given me through this letter—" he paused as his right hand went to search for the small letter inside his coat's pocket; after pulling it out, Connor continued. "—you said before that in your travels, you have been in this place before, correct?"

Peering over to read the letter, Mr. Faulkner gave him a nod. "Aye, I have. But it was a long time ago, now. I was there when the French was just starting to set up there colonies in the Southern places. I only know that this is now called the French Quarter, even though the Spanish are everywhere in Louisiana."

Then he gave Connor a quizzical look. "What else is going to happen in this place? You've inquired about this place from Norris and then to Stephane, and then to me more than twice now."

"I am merely making sure of the destination," Connor told him in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, trying to cover his lie.

"A name of an inn is in those letters," Mr. Faulkner further questioned. "Is that your meeting place with Aveline?"

"Yes," Connor curtly replied. "But Aveline told me that her fellow Assassins would be expecting us in one of the vast rivers with their own ship in Louisiana, almost next to the vast, winding river of Mississippi."

Mr. Faulkner, letting go of the issue of the meeting place, chuckled. "Let's hope their ship keeps up with the Ghost of the North Seas!"

Connor sighed with relief and grinned, satisfied that Mr. Faulkner doesn't suspect too much of the planned activity he would have with Arlette _after _his meeting with Aveline. The strong night breeze pushed the sails further, directing the Aquila faster to its destination. A toll of the bell below the deck signalled the start of the dinner; the crew was soon below deck to gather their food and rum, and then went back to their posts around the ship, half-minding their work but fully enjoying the meal. There were some who stayed below deck to help clean the dishes and the kitchen. Mr. Faulkner, Connor and Arlette, on the other hand, stayed below at the dining hall with Stephane Chapheau serving them with all his exuberance. It was entertaining to see Stephane and a few of the crew play folk music and serve at the same time, much to everyone's amusement, especially to Arlette. After the dessert, and everyone was full and satisfied and almost to the point of drowsiness, she sang next to Stephane of a familiar French song, crooning everybody almost to sleep. And it was already late at night, but the Aquila continued its journey and Connor and the rest of his crew stayed alert; Connor insisted that Arlette rest in her room as the travel would be a little longer. Accompanying her, Connor chivalrously bid her good night before he closed the door of her room. She slept as soon as she had changed into her night dress, feeling quite elated of the day's events and her growing relationship with Connor.

As planned, the Aquila would be travelling on the rivers in Mississippi towards Louisiana, accompanied by a large sloop-of-war, flying the flag of Louisiana and the Assassin insignia below it.

It was fifteen minutes passed eleven in the evening as the dock of New Orleans was seen a few kilometres away, the lantern lights, the-still bustling sounds and folk songs of the people still awake reaching their ears. The watchers from each of the ships held their telescopes high, looking for the tell-tale sign of another fellow Assassin. Connor waited patiently for his watcher to give him the signal that it is safe to dock and Aveline herself would be appearing at this late hour. Connor's gaze was far, scrutinizing and alert; far more alert then the average person as he is gifted with an ability only known amongst the Assassins as the Eagle Vision. Although he does use telescopes to see things and places farther away, he uses the Eagle Vision to clearly see or sense danger or a specific person in mind; and now, he and the rest of the Assassins are highly alert for enemies, Templars or even mercenaries and pirates.

"The docks are clear, captain!" The watcher bellowed from above and Connor silently agreed. There, at the docks, was the familiar figure of the wealthy Aveline de Grandpré, attired in the fashion of the high-class citizen of the Spanish colony of Louisiana. She was flocked with her fellow Assassin recruits; some wore the guise of servants and guards, while others wore upper-middle class clothes, but all wore red or white elements in their clothes, the traditional colors of the Assassin… siblinghood.

Then, in Connor's Eagle Vision, he saw a trail of wavy red hair at the bow of the Aquila; focusing his sight there, Connor caught his breath at the beautiful, tender sight of Arlette. She was not wearing her night dress anymore, opting to wear her middle class dress and stays; her dark red hair blazed as the yellow lights reflected on her long wavy tresses. Her sleeves and dress danced as the strong wind of early summer met her skin, and Connor saw the spirits dance and sing around her, alive, uninhibited and full of happiness. They flew around her in an elegant whirl of wind, powerful but not forceful; they soothe her and the people in the ship of the Aquila and on the sloop-of-war beside them as it sailed on the dark blue glass of water; but only Connor could see the spirits in their glamour and delight, and they continued to dance and tease, celebrating the night; the spirits further ruffled the sails and the Aquila gladly glided on, letting the spirits guide her, a formidable spirit herself; Connor breathed and exhaled the energy around him, and as if her mind seem to connect with the spirits, Arlette raised her arms in the air, her fingers grazing against the flesh of the spirits; they swiftly swooped down, meeting her, ruffling her hair, caressing her arms and face, and embracing her, accepting her. She waved her hand enthusiastically, and Connor followed her line of sight and saw that the sailors on the sloop-of-war—men and women—waved back at her equally. But she kept her arms in the air, making the grandest, silent greeting to New Orleans and embracing the winds, the spirits… and they embraced back, and Connor felt an overwhelming ardour inside his heart. The feathers inside him ruffled again and they took flight, joining the spirits.

Drawn to her, Connor approached the bow and strode towards Arlette, oblivious of his presence. The dock of New Orleans became clearer as they neared it, but they were still far enough to see a panoramic view of the beautiful and diverse city. Connor didn't want to disturb her quiet happiness, her chest breathing deep the scent of the waters and the city she is about to see. However, she turned around to see him and smiled, and Connor could only gaze back in awe. She must have felt his presence; her hands, now gripping the side of the bow, opened her arms again and welcomed Connor in her embrace, and in the embrace of the spirits.

Wounding her tender arm around his waist, she pulled him—his giant statuesque of a body, unyielding and as strong as mountains—relented to the soft skin and gentle pull of her love, her smile. She rested her head on his strong, warm chest and he let his heart beat wilder; his arm wound around her shoulder and pulled her in his embrace, the embrace of his joy.

Mr. Faulkner took charge of the ship as he observed in silence the Captain of the Aquila, ensnared in the natural, effortless seduction of the former stowaway that slipped quietly to the bow of the ship, observing the city in her own delight. He smirked as Connor, his mouth slightly open in amazement and hypnotized, strode towards the siren that waved happily at the sailors on the other ship; he was transfixed, his actions unguarded; Arlette slowly turned to see him and her arms wound around him, taking him further and drowning in desire. Mr. Faulkner chuckled inwardly, but soon focused on docking the Aquila and securing her, commanding the crew with precision.

As the hands of the Aquila went busy, Connor and Arlette are lost in their own world of love. He slowly dipped his head towards her and she met him halfway, their lips meeting and their arms entwined around each other.

"So," Aveline said, an amused smile on her lips. She stood next to Mr. Faulkner as he shook his head in disbelief. "This is the woman he is fond of."

"She's dangerous," Mr. Faulkner retorted. "She cuts off fingers whoever abducts her and seduces men with her large chest. And she can stow herself on ships, very dangerous."

Aveline cocked an eyebrow and chuckled.

**Sorry there was a mistake somewhere in the story, so I fixed! Heh, we should have been more careful!**


End file.
